Stay With Me For A While
by BlackSunday
Summary: Hermione has two people she cares deeply about taken away from her. What can Harry do to help her?


Disclaimer – I don't own any thing from HP. Shame!

A/N - This is a one off as far as I know. If I get any inspiration or and good ideas from reviewers then I might add more chapters!

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She wasn't always this way. Changing her mood every second, having a perfectly normal conversation one minute, and the next, screaming at us, slamming her door and crying her eyes out. She used to be so light-hearted and carefree, but if any of us are shocked at her temper any more, we hide it well. I know how she feels.

I guess it all started with the summer before our sixth year. She was staying with her parents, like every other holiday, and they had their usual arguments. Everything seemed to be normal. What changed occurred on the day the Death Eaters came for her.

Her parents showed their love for her by sacrificing themselves so that she could live the life she was entitled to – just like mine did for me. The only sense that I could make out of her broken sentences as she told me her story, reliving that awful moment, was that her mother had died first. Her father his her in a wooden chest in her bedroom whilst her mother confronted those cold-hearted murderers who destroyed my friend's life and left her with a broken heart and a tortured soul.

I knew as soon as she told me about the Death Eaters that her parents had no chance whatsoever. For one thing, her parents had no wizarding skills between them, yet even if they had, Death Eaters murdered even the most skilled of wizards. All it took was two words, and they'd be dead. Those evil bastards took her parent's lives, leaving her in that chest, sobbing for three hours after they apparated away from her house, leaving her replaying those torturous final moments of her parents lives.

As soon as the school year began, and she greeted us from the Great Hall (Dumbledore had taken her to Hogwarts for safe keeping), felt her arms wrap around me and her tears soak the sleeve of my shirt. That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, we sat by the fire in the Common Room, and she told me her story, cuddled up to me and cried in my arms again. Me heart was crying out for her too. I can't wait until I have the chance to kill the bastards that did this to her.

She told me her story because she thought I would be the only one able to empathise with her situation. In some ways, I understand what she's feeling and I'll be there for her, holding her close to me, yet in other ways I couldn't even begin to imagine the hurt she has building up inside of her.

I hardly knew my parents when I lost them. The pain I live with and the hatred I feel for Voldemort is immense, as he took away my loving family and he left me with nothing. She, on the other hand, had loved her parents and had had the life that Voldemort stole from me, with her own choice of breakfast in the morning, trips to the theatre or the zoo, or even a stroll in the park. How could I possibly begin to imagine the pain she feels, when she had to give up the life she loved?

A few weeks after she revealed her summer to me, she began having nightmares. She would walk into my room with the shyness and naivety of a 12-year-old schoolgirl (despite the fact that we were both 17) and climb into bed next to me. She would curl my hair around her fingers, and mumble how she felt that no one loved her. She would cry softly in her sleep, and all I could do was hold her close to me. She was always gone when I awoke.

As I said earlier, she would mumble how she felt that no one loved her, and my heart was crying out to me to tell her the truth - that I love her intensely, that she is beautiful and intelligent, and I adore her, plain and simple.

I think it was two weeks after Christmas that I first discovered the cuts on her arms. She'd had a wonderful Christmas – she, Ron and I had gone to the Burrow and spent Christmas with Ron's family. By day, she would laugh at Ron's stupidity and the twins' jokes (even contributing a few herself), she would cook with Mrs Weasley, and talk to Ginny. By night, she was still sleeping in my bed (in Ron's room, when he'd gone to sleep), cuddling up to me tight, but she had a small smile playing at her lips instead of the frown that had been present on her face in the past. I guess that's the reason I was shocked at her, but I understood it. After all, the scars that feature on my body aren't all from fighting the good fight. When I found out about her cuts, I was scared for her and myself, and she slept like a tortured angel in my arms. I could not cry for her. I have to be strong for her.

Around the time of my discovery, I believe, was the first time she kissed me. The pain that she's undergone and was dealing with everyday nullified the passion that would have been contained in her embrace. She kissed me softly, with a slight air or uncertainty, and after it had ended, she placed her hand in mine and we watched the embers of the fire burn out together. She only spoke to me once in an hour and a half:

" Would you stay with me for while?" All I could do was nod.

Although I didn't confess my love to her, I showed her it as only a best friend could. There was nothing romantic about any of the kisses we shared, the times we held hands, or when we slept in my bed. I was just doing my job as her best friend. Or that's what I was trying to tell myself.

Tonight, however, must have been the night she's scared me the most. I climbed through the portrait hole to find her slumped in the armchair facing the fire, with a piece of broken glass in her hand. I ran over to her, saw the blood, lifted her up on my shoulders and sprinted as fast as I could to the hospital wing. As I lay her down on the bed, I touched her face. She was so cold, and so lifeless.

Madame Pomfrey saw to her as soon as I lay her down on the bed, and said that had I been ten minutes later, she probably would have died. Pomfrey gave her a potion to increase her blood count, bandaged her arms, and left me alone with her. As she lay there with her eyes closed, and that bloody white material on her arms, I took her hand, and told her what I'd held back from her for seven years. I thought that had I not told her then, I mightn't have had another chance.

"Hermione Granger, I love you. I've always loved you. I just wanted you to know."

Tonight, I will cry for her.

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A/N – And that's it! Tell me if I should carry on or not!


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